


Tessellate

by orphan_account



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dream Sex, Introspection, M/M, Post-Devil May Cry 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I must be dreaming, Vergil thinks to himself, unable to recall how and why he’s standing, fully dressed at what seems to be the middle of the night, by the front door.While thy branches mix with mine, and our roots together join...Or, Vergil has a trippy dream and V kinda gets him off: the fic.





	Tessellate

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know what this is supposed to be.

The only source of lighting in the agency is that of the neon sign hanging high above Dante’s desk, casting its faint red glow across the jagged silhouettes of what few furniture lies scattered about. The blinds shut out any potential contamination from the streetlamp right outside of Devil May Cry, crafting an eerie sense of detachment from the material world.

_I must be dreaming_ , Vergil thinks to himself, unable to recall how and why he’s standing, fully dressed at what seems to be the middle of the night, by the front door. His right hand hovers over his hip, and the absence of Yamato reassures him that it is a dream. An oddity, considering he hasn’t dreamt in decades. Not since the last time he had a proper night’s sleep, which he hardly needs anyway.

A brief glance across the room reveals a cleanliness foreign to the place in the waking world, with tools stored in their place and weapons appropriately mounted in their assigned spaces. Vergil approaches the single bookshelf Dante was kind enough to supply him with. He finds his books disorganized, stacked haphazardly in senseless patterns, and all their titles erased, replaced by a single letter.

Rather than fix it, Vergil turns around, granting his full attention to the shadow that slowly moves out of the corner of his eye.

“ _While thy branches mix with mine, and our roots together join,_ ” the figure recites in a slow and melodic tone.

Vergil answers, “ _Joys upon our branches sit, chirping loud and singing sweet._ ”

“ _Like gentle streams beneath our feet – Innocence and virtue meet._ Though, I’ll admit, neither innocence nor virtue resides within us any longer.” The figure stops just out of reach of the sign’s glow, but it’s enough. “Don’t you think so?”

Although his hair hides most of the sharp edges of his face, Vergil has seen this man in passing, predominantly in pictures taken by either Nero or Goldstein. Vergil wonders why he’s playing a lead in his dream but then remembers, with a rather sickening twist to the gut, who this man is.

“There’s no need to worry,” he says, holding up a hand in what Vergil assumes is a sign of appeasement, “just consider this a… monologue.”

“Why are you here?” Vergil says, eyeing the cane the man leans on. “You ended.”

“Say my name.”

“You have no name.”

“Nero called me by a name. As did Dante. Rather loudly on a handful of occasions, too.”

Vergil’s jaw clenches, unable to remember any such occasion, but he soon realizes he’s being taunted by his own self. “V.”

“Naming your demons gives you power over them. Funny, how your humanity is your own demon,” V says, finally stepping further into the dim light. “I wonder what it means, having named myself when you so carelessly cast me away like a tainted rag.”

“I did what I had to.” Vergil turns his back to him once he’s deemed him as threatening as a bug. He directs his attention to his bookshelf and, one by one, removes his books to properly organize them. The task may seem impossible given all they have for titles is the letter ‘V’, but he’ll figure something out. “And you didn’t name yourself. You took my initial which was on the cover of my book.”

“‘V’ for ‘Vergil’,” V says, and Vergil can hear him pace the room behind him. “You mean _my_ book.”

“Is there a reason for this?” Vergil snaps, turning his head to glower at V who sits precariously on the edge of Dante’s desk. “There must be. I was a child the last time I dreamed about fairies and magic wands, and here we are.”

“Here I am,” V corrects, “I returned to you, completed us – _me_ – because you were too foolish to comprehend that, without me, you are nothing.” Combing back his hair, V sighs. “Human and demon, together, is much stronger than either alone. Consider this your opportunity to come to terms with the fact.”

“I know the limits of my own existence.”

“I’ve no doubt you do, but are you aware of the potential of it?”

Vergil pauses. “Explain yourself.”

V rolls his eyes. “Break your mold, Vergil. Only then will you truly be free of the chains that have held you prisoner for so long.” Sliding off the desk, V saunters over to him, cane resting casually over his shoulder. “It’s been years and still, there isn’t a day when you don’t think about making the jump right back into the Underworld, all by yourself. Leave them all behind. Break your brother’s heart all over again. Cast me out once more because you fear the vulnerability I bring.”

“That’s enough—”

“I don’t think so.” V smacks the top of his cane against Vergil’s chest to make a point. “That’s always been the root of the issue. It is never enough for you. Never enough power, enough control, enough discipline, enough love, enough affection.”

“Nonsense,” Vergil says, but pauses when the cane presses snuggly against his chin. The cold steel is reminiscent of a sword, unyielding against the warmth of his skin. It is both a threat and a prayer meant to pull him away from darkness’ edge.

“Is it truly?” V closes the distance between them, pressing the cane hard enough to smart. “That throne of human blood beckons you like a siren song, promising empty power and the illusion of absolute control. Do you truly desire that over the tumultuous home that has been built here for you? The constant chill of the Underworld over the heat of those that surround you?”

Vergil grabs hold of the cane and yanks it away, leveling V with a steely glare. Anger stirs in the deepest parts of him, pushing against the concrete walls he has built and reinforced over years of desolate existence. “It’s blinding,” he says, the words cutting the air sharper than his own blade. He’s not at all certain why he admits it, but the knot within the cage of his chest tightens sickeningly. “The way they look at me, as if they’re expecting something.”

“There’s safety in ruling,” V says, drawing a reluctant nod out of Vergil. “Demons have no expectations, just the desire to overthrow and claim as their own.” The brass ring on his finger makes contact with the sharp edges of Vergil’s jawline, slowly gliding downward until he can tip his head upward by the chin. “When have we been one for the easy way out?”

“I did not come all this way to be ruled by a contemptuous child and a miscreant brother.” His back had bowed under the pressure of his newfound family, breaking the armor he had so lovingly crafted for himself. Together, Nero and Dante tore away the pieces, leaving him bare and exposed, offering nothing but a gossamer sheet in its stead. “They speak of love and forgiveness yet thrive on my defeat, gorging themselves in the frailty they have forced me into.”

V clicks his tongue in the form of a wordless reprimand. “That is purely a matter of perspective.”

Vergil nearly scoffs. “As was my death, clearly.”

“You don’t truly believe there’s any underlying wickedness in their actions.”

“If there weren’t, they’d be far more understanding of my needs as an individual.”

V laughs, and his closeness tickles the skin of Vergil’s face. “And what, pray tell, have you compromised for the sake of their needs?” His eyebrows nearly vanish behind the curtain of black hair, the look on his face passively unamused. “You’ve forgotten the nuances of humanity. The continuous give and take that defines individuals who coexist in harmony. One cannot simply take, take, take, without surrendering something of equal value. Perhaps, your surrender will be met with a boon beyond your most untouchable of desires.”

Vergil remains unmoving, rooted to where he stands despite V pushing into his space. Warmth rolls off him in gentle, pulsing waves, lulling Vergil into the same sea of sleep that had claimed him moments before arriving within his own psyche. A sense of safety, albeit an uncomfortable one, slowly engulfs him.

He remembers now, the reason why this bizarre introspection of a dream is taking place. Nero had stormed off earlier after nearly cleaving Dante’s desk in half, spewing vitriol in the direction of his father. The argument had been mundane enough, but it had struck a chord in Vergil that made him retreat into himself, throwing up walls he so rarely brought down. Dante had looked on with a blank expression, before leaving the room altogether.

Vergil had been left standing in the front office, alone and unbalanced, as the darkest of thoughts repeatedly slammed against invisible barriers with demonic force. They bowed and cracked but didn’t break. He hasn’t lost complete control of himself since his recompletion, albeit he has weakened since his and Dante’s return from the Underworld. He figured allowing some sort of leeway would open the field to some socially respectable sense of normalcy, but he should have known that his family is anything but.

“Your sins remain,” V says, and he almost sounds apologetic. “They will continue to remain even in the wake of true forgiveness and absolution. What we have done can never be undone, may never well be mended.”

A hand grazes his groin and Vergil sighs, his back coming into contact with the bookshelf behind him. He watches V’s features and wonders why he looks the way he does. There is a level of understanding as to why he is thin and frail, Vergil’s humanity having been corrupted and neglected prior the split. But, elsewise, there is no real explanation behind the shape of his face, the depth of his visage, the plushness of his lips that are so unlike Vergil’s own.

“Then, what is the point of trying?” He says, tilting his head back when V nuzzles a kiss into the vulnerable column of Vergil’s neck. “If I will never be exonerated, why waste my time in this minuscule world that can barely contain me?”

The hand on his groin leaves to be replaced with a thigh, pushing upward and gently drawing a shuddering breath from him.

“The point of trying is the same as your reason for seeking power,” V says against his skin, nipping his jaw with savagely sharp teeth. “The reason why you’ve done what you have. To protect what matters and covet what you love. To ensure the survival of that which is yours.”

Wicked hands find their way under Vergil’s coat to squeeze his buttocks, pulling him further up and harder against V’s thigh until he surrenders to the unexpected spike of pleasure.

“Is it truly mine, I wonder,” Vergil muses, arms limp at his sides as he allows V exploration to his hearts’ content. “That which I hold most sacred.”

“It matters not. _Break your mold,_ ” V repeats, pushing their bodies impossibly close. “There are other things to seek besides power, and finding requires effort and resilience. Vulnerability is not tantamount to weakness, Vergil. Allowing them to shatter you only means rebuilding upon a stronger foundation, one unbreakable in the most violent of storms.”

The blunt end of the cane presses into his back, and Vergil can’t help but smile.

He languidly steals a kiss from V’s lips, licking into his mouth at his leisure. There is no need for blind fervor here, no desperate clinging out of fear of abandonment when he’s simply embracing himself. His hips move, however, as he steps closer to a precipice unlike any other he’s stood on before.

Vergil pursues his release, but all he’s met with is the searing pain of metal through his torso, impaling him and V both as their mouths part with a wanton gasp – plunging Vergil into the innocuous depths of sleep, and back into the waking world.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on **[TWITTER](https://twitter.com/shotgunsinlace)**!


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